


it takes time

by A_Salieri



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AtsuHina, Canon Compliant, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26529247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Salieri/pseuds/A_Salieri
Summary: There was no love in there, and they both knew it.But if there's no love, then why does he keep on imagining Shouyou's face, flushed up to the ears, smiling warm against his chest?"This isn't funny anymore, you bastard."...Takes place after MSBY vs. Adlers match, when Hinata goes back to Brazil for the second time.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Oikawa Tooru, Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72





	it takes time

**Author's Note:**

> I reposted this because i deleted my old acc and because a certain someone convinced me to.  
> If you recognize this, no you don't... T-T

First, you think the worst is a broken heart.

Afternoon light bleeds through the window panes straight into the small, unkempt room of an unorganized person who is currently laying down on his bed, no plans of getting up. He is not sleeping, although that is the thing that he wants most right now, after all, he has a couple of games under his belt for the next few weeks, and for the fact that he is thoroughly, utterly burnt out of everything, slowly affects his gameplay.

He sucked hard, his tosses which no one ever had an issue before, in the history of all his volleyball career, now wouldn't even pass as a set of a first year middle schooler. At least depending on his standards. Everybody has a hard time dealing with him, and he certainly isn't helping them. Adding his natural (now amplified) shitty personality which even managed to piss off the cheerful and all-smiles Bokuto Koutarou, all they could do is sigh. After all, no one could blame him.

Atsumu groaned, lifted his head from its face-down position atop a pillow, (which might have been a very lazy attempt to asphyxiate himself because after all a man who doesn't sleep awaits only death) and ran his fingers through his messy, wavy locks which he might've not combed properly in days. No, he definitely didn't. Out of habit or, a stubborn declaration that he will not do it because it is not his role.

The one with the role already left. And he cannot do anything about it. More like, there is nothing he could do, but to respect the decision that has been made and planned delicately for his future. As much as Atsumu hated Hinata going back to somewhere else without him, not to mention Brazil, a territory that is unfamiliar to the Hyogo-born-and-raised setter, which Hinata had spent the last two years of doing god-knows-what kind of sorcery (training) that allowed him to be able to attain the kind of player he is now, Atsumu is helpless, and is now entering the stage of resignation.

On random days, he kept being reminded of all the unimportant (very important) and boring (very fun) events he spent his days on practicing cooking, watching Netflix, and basically doing all kinds of silly things with Hinata. Even without the man himself, everything inside his little apartment unit had been marked by his presence, inducing all kinds of negative thoughts that will get him feeling down for another whole day, which he cannot afford to do. He's a professional volleyball player after all, and Miya Atsumu would rather die than to have his place taken away from him.

And so he closed his eyes. And tried to sleep.

But sleep wouldn't come.

The departure was hell. Atsumu is worse.

On normal occasions, he would start pacing back and forth, biting his fingernails as Meian kept scolding him to not do so, as it may affect the precision of his tosses. But he doesn't care. If he weren't biting his nails he probably would've used his free hands in tugging Shouyou away from the airport with all of his strength, leaving the bags and all, leaving his Karasuno family, (teary eyed as of the moment, except Tsukishima who is looking smug as ever) leaving all of their MSBY teammates and wasting everybody's time. And money. And the very expensive ticket that Shouyou had already bought for himself last month.

But that day was different.

He was silent the whole time. There is almost nothing that can be read from his expression, neither expressing sadness or anger or even frustration. Nothing. He wasn't even able to utter a word, with all of the worried glances his teammates threw at him.

Just a wave of a hand, a small smile, and Hinata's gone.

Although sadness is, of course, a given.

When he heard about Shouyou's departure the first time he decided to go to Brazil, it made him unsettled. After all they weren't even that close back then. A few hi's and hello's during the past Nationals. The only thing that is connecting them to each other was a lost match, and a promise.

Oh how Atsumu wishes it could be like that again. A clean slate. No emotional strings, just acquaintances.

But they'll never go back to that time. The canvas was already painted. Orange, yellow, and red.

A warmth that once settled between Atsumu's broad shoulders, a warmth that he wakes up to every morning, the familiar sight of morning glow bouncing off on orange locks, almost blinding him— morning coffees, late night conversations, stolen kisses, birthdays, anniversaries. All of it happened with him.

He shared everything with Shouyou.

It was all too familiar. A taste of temporary heaven—one he thought is permanent, one he wished to be permanent, but turns out, it isn't.

Nothing ever is.

He doesn't like it.

-

What's gonna kill you is the second part.

It was not easy. Well, being left behind never was, but for Miya Atsumu, it was especially difficult. Hinata Shouyou came into his life, bringing suns, smiles and everything in between, forcing some stability in his stale life which initially only revolved on volleyball and occasional half-assed trips to his brother's onigiri restaurant.

Before Hinata, he never once watched a movie, tried to cook for himself, or even read a book, given that Atsumu is already exceptionally smart that's why he didn't think that much of reading. Shouyou just casually went into his life like a rollercoaster, rearranging everything, bringing new stuff he hasn't even thought about doing, like dancing merrily to a song with a language he'd never heard in his entire life, or just plain dancing, basically.

Atsumu forced himself on a sitting position and at the same time heard his stomach growl. His droopier-than-usual eyes scanned the room. Tons of empty cups of instant noodles littered everywhere, from the kitchen table, to the floor, even a couple reaching the foot of his bed. He sighed as he stood up and picked them up one by one, stacking them up like a miniature tower before finally dumping them all into the trash bin.

His stomach growls again. He almost feels like he forgot what real food tastes like now, what's with weeks of constant consumption of cheap instant noodles. It's only a matter of time before he started having stomach problems, which must never happen. It would be a disaster if he suddenly felt unwell during a match.

His gaze then landed on the kitchen sink, which is clean. He never once used it after Shouyou left, and there was no reason to. He had never cooked for himself before, and the only reason it is there maintained and cleaned properly is because of Hinata who always busies himself in the kitchen during slow days, making healthy smoothies and occasional desserts (for cheat days), and most of the time, meals the both of them. The guy loves to cook.

He closed his eyes, forcing the vision that suddenly, cockily, pushed itself in front of his idle thoughts, out of his mind.

Him, wearing his favorite blue apron, humming to an all too familiar tune—

And he shakes his head as if trying to dismiss the feeling.

Too late. It was there.

He picked up his phone, which he kept charged for the sole reason of alarms for volleyball games and nothing else. He completely lost the sense of time and responsibility he had ever since high school and went back to his daily life before Hinata came along. A life of individuality and solitude. Just plain boringness. He wasn't sure which he would prefer, an active and eventful lifestyle, or the one he has now, which gives him an excuse to laze around at home.

Instead of his daily ritual of placing ridiculously many alarms, he picked it up with a different reason in mind, and dialed a number he knew he could more or less trust. Trust to not make fun of him, at least. The man on the other side answers after two rings.

"Meian-san. Let's go out for a drink." Atsumu spoke first.

Shugo Meian. The captain of MSBY. One who is, whether the man liked it or not, his main supplier of beef-flavored cup noodles, which left him no choice to be honest, as Miya refused to eat anything aside from it. Although Sakusa and Bokuto might've been the obvious choice since they are in the same age bracket, he knew that things would only go downhill if he even attempted to invite them on a drink. Especially that Bokuto, who surprisingly never gets drunk, gets too overly excited over little things and Sakusa, which is astonishingly done after one shot, which he and Bokuto have to drag across the floor to his unit because he passed out. Both incredibly troublesome. Proven and tested. Not the behavior you'd expect from full-grown adults. And professionals.

Meian is average. He is a great listener, at the same time a type which is quite talkative about his own struggles over drinks, a perfect choice for Atsumu who is in the mood for drinking and nothing else. He can't talk about it. It's not that easy. It's been hard enough thinking about it. He doesn't need to hear it with his own voice anymore.

"M-Miya?" a very surprised tone met Atsumu's ears. Meian has every reason in the world to be surprised. First, Atsumu never calls. The normal Atsumu, one that is not broken and wasted like the current one, that is. Second, he has been out of it for weeks, never said a word aside from hi, hello, and goodbye during training, then suddenly calls out of the blue and asks to hang out for drinks. Third, this is Atsumu we're talking about here.

"What's the matter? Can't make it?" Atsumu said flatly, scratching his head. He started walking to the bathroom and examined his face on the mirror, phone still against his ear. Horrible. If his fans saw him right now, they would either not recognize him, or leave him for the other players. His hair unkempt and greasy, probably starting to get messier than his life. A stubble is forming on his face, his eye bags becoming more prominent with every passing day, his cheeks sunken and complexion deathly pale. If zombies are real, Atsumu could be described as one. An unhealthy zombie. A very great condition for a professional athlete.

"N-No. I can make it. Just surprised. You called out of the blue, you know? Not even Bokuto could contact you, and you know him. He's a very... persistent caller." Atsumu reached for the shaving cream and razor and started cleaning his face. "We even tried asking Hina—"

Hinata.

"I'm sorry..."

Atsumu exhaled loudly and pinched the area between his eyes. Even the mention of the name sends thousands of pins to his chest. He still hates himself for feeling this way, he hates himself for feeling anything, for feeling at all. 

"It's fine. I'm fine. So, what time are you available?" Atsumu rinsed down the foam from his face and examined himself. Better.

"Seven pm. Let's throw in some meat too. You need it." Meian said, worry enveloping his tone. "Have you invited anyone else? Other than me, of course."

"No. See you, Meian-san. Usual place 'lright?" Atsumu ended the call abruptly without giving him the opportunity to answer.

A picture suddenly formed inside of his head unwillingly, particularly one of the drunken nights he spent with his wing spiker, telling each other drunk and crazy stories of their past, laughing, hugging each other, cuddling. It was him, his love, his best friend, his worst enemy, one who pushes his buttons, his limits.

Short eyelashes, snoozing, drunk. Humming softly in his sleep, touching, softly. Occasionally blurting words, blurting Tsumus, and then snoozing back again.

He swallowed, forcing the lump in his throat to go down, feeling the back of his eyes heat up. If he had not ended the call, Meian would've heard another version of Miya Atsumu which one normally would've lived the entirety of their lifetime without ever hearing

If only it was that simple. If only it was just a long distance relationship and nothing more. But it's not. It never will be. No matter how many times he wished he could take every single word back, it was gone. It was spoken. It was heard.

-

"You look... terrible."

Atsumu downed the shot of liquor, feeling the liquid travel down thickly into his throat, burning. A distraction. Something to focus on other than the bothersome thumping of his temple.

"I know. I feel terrible too."

Meian just stared at him, and finally sighed. He raised a hand.

They are now inside the local resto that the whole MSBY team would always go to after matches like a ritual. The place was not popular, perfect for being the hang-out place of nationally popular volleyball players that can also be considered as idols. It is comfy, the food and alcohol is good. It almost serves as a comfort place for them, since a lot of them came from different places and had to stay in Tokyo just for the team.

A female waitress approached them, a smile plastered on her face.

"What would you like to order, sir?" she glanced at Atsumu for a second, already downing his third shot, realizing they wouldn't go anywhere if she talked to him, so she turned and referred to Meian instead. 

"Two more servings of the meat please. And five bottles of this thing we are drinking. Miya seems to like it." Meian smiled politely as he lifted the menu made out of cardboard and pointed his choices to the waitress, while she jot them down on her mini notepad.

"Alright. Two plates, five bottles coming up." She turned and left towards the counter. Meian looked back at Atsumu, who's staring at him blankly.

"What? Drunk already? We're still two bottles in." Meian chuckled and picked up the meat straight from the grill with his chopsticks and stuffed it straight into his mouth. "Well, anyone other than me looking at you probably thinks you have downed ten bottles already. With that appearance of yours."

"I want a distraction."

Meian's hands, who is currently scooping up another serving of meat to put into the grill, dropped the chopsticks slowly on the table, eyes widened. He shifted on his seat a little bit uncomfortably, trying to guess the context from Atsumu's words. A lot of thoughts pass through his mind, most of them different from what he had assumed the reason for Miya's behavior be.

To be honest, the whole team is very intrigued as to why Atsumu is acting so brokenhearted for the last few days. Hinata left, yes, but they're still in a relationship right? There are a lot of ways to contact each other through the internet, but Atsumu's actions tell otherwise. With Atsumu being uncooperative and unapproachable since Shouyou left, the team were trying to pick up the pieces and solve the puzzle to no avail. 

With just four words, Meian confirmed that there is a chapter in the story that they didn't know.

"About a week before he left—"

This was not supposed to happen. Atsumu planned to drink without talking but the liquid burning at the back of his throat, the lump that wouldn't go down, choking him, and the burn he felt at the sides of his eyes kept pestering him to talk and let it all out. 

"He told me he's leavin'. A week ago. All smiles, very excited to go back there. In Brazil." Atsumu slumped down, putting his head between his hands, lightly tugging his hair in frustration. Reaching for another shot, he groaned.

"I just lost it. I lost my temper—"

The hours pass by and as the empty stacks of plates and empty bottles make a mess of their table, Atsumu, who is now ranting quite loudly and aggressively, not making much sense (in Meian's embarrassment and a silent oath to himself to never come back here alone with Miya again), influenced by tens of shot glasses he downed, finally silenced.

"He's gone. Until when?" He muttered bitterly to himself. Too quiet that even Meian, who is sitting directly across from him, had to lean down a bit to get what he's saying.

"Why is it so easy for him? Why is he smiling while he's telling me he's going somewhere... somewhere without me?"

All the whys and Meian doesn't have any idea what he should respond to. He wonders if the Miya he had known has always been this dramatic, but the fact that Atsumu, one who normally shrugs off problems behind his shoulder, needs a drink, and needs someone to drink with, tells him that he hasn't been handling this well.

And so he drinks quietly. After all he's sure that no words could get through Atsumu with the state he's in. So as a good captain and a friend, he decided to be a companion and a listener, keeping all of the stories he was initially planning to joke about, to himself. Some other time.

-

Miya Atsumu slumps on his bed, once again burying his head into a pillow and breathing deeply. He's pissed drunk and his head already throbs slightly, which made him fear for tomorrow to come. He's sure that the migraine would be far worse, but he doesn't mind it. Migraines are nothing. At least he has something to distract him from some other things bothering his head.

He sighed and cursed softly against the sheets. He and his blabbermouth. This wasn't what he planned; for Meian to be aware of his every struggle in life possible, and making a fool of himself in a public place. He was so out of it that Meian had to call him a cab because he can barely stand without falling face-first on the concrete before leaving and paying off the whole bill himself. He made a mental note to thank Meian and to treat him to something in return for his kindness.

The alcohol did not work. And he has run out of energy to care.

"Please get out of my sight."

What would've he done differently? What would've he said instead? Is there something—anything at all that would convince him to stay right here with him, inside his arms? These thoughts continuously plagued Atsumu's mind, leaving him restless, agitated, and angry at himself and the whole world. Thinking about their past conversations, their last fight, which included their pride and anger speaking over their rational minds, clouding over their judgment and focused more on projecting their own pain over the other. There was no love in there, and they both knew it.

But if there's no love, then why does he keep on imagining Shouyou's face, flushed up to the ears, smiling warm against his chest?

"This isn't funny anymore, you bastard."

Again, he is willing to accept the weakness he despises just for a little bit of comfort. Even just a bit.

But there's nothing.

Again, there is only this empty, suffocating feeling inside his chest. Oxygen normally comes easy but for some reason, he finds it hard to breathe properly.

He hugged the pillow opposite to him against his chest. So tight it might as well rip. Channeling all his anger, frustrations and pain into another thing that reminds him of Shouyou. He desperately placed his nose atop the pillow, breathing, trying to calm himself. Hoping... for something, anything, clinging into a possibility that might be able to provide him peace throughout the night.

Which ended up in disappointment.

He doesn't deserve it.

Shouyou's scent is gone without a trace. As it should.

Lame.

His eyes landed unwillingly on the untouched guitar case at the corner of the room that is starting to get a little bit dusty.

"Have you tried this? I practiced with this a lot while I was in Brazil!"

A guitar?

"One, two.. yes just like that. Then strum. Gently."

"Do you have a song in mind?"

"You're getting better, Tsumu!"

With your warmth behind me, almost hugging me with your strong and stable arms, your rough hands guiding my fingers, plucking the strings gently, teaching me.

One, two.

"You have a nice voice, Tsum. Why not try singing?"

"Your voice is so deep and mellow, I might just have fallen in love with you again, hehe."

With you smiling softly to my hums, your eyes closed, as if you're in the most comfortable place in the world.

"You're already better than me. Are you a genius or something? I'm jealous…"

Don't be jealous. I am yours.

"Play something for me?"

Atsumu closed his eyes. Tired of thinking about things that he could no longer change, no matter how much he wants to. Tired eyes, hurting eyes.

"Of course."

"I hate you."

But Atsumu hates himself even more.

-

And the third, is when your world splits down the middle.

"Oh, Miya! Fancy of you to join us for morning practice! I thought we have to print out advertisements for a setter replacement soon." Inunaki exclaimed, as Atsumu entered the court's locker rooms.

"Good morning, Inunaki-san."

"No response again to—huh?" Inunaki, who is refilling his water jug on the faucet, stopped talking abruptly. His mouth, which has been hanging open, threw a meaningful glance towards his other teammates, which are also stunned. Atsumu, who is now changing clothes for his morning stretching, is oblivious to this, his thoughts roaming elsewhere.

The faint smell of Salonpas. The balls scattered aimlessly around the floor, with no one even bothering to pick them up. It has been quite some time since Atsumu paid attention to all of these things. Normally he would just greet them nonchalantly (but most of the time ignores them completely) and focuses on his morning workouts but somehow, today is different.

It has been a month since Shouyou left for Brazil and not once since then they communicated with each other. That night was an ultimatum for both of them, but neither had the guts to end the relationship they knew is starting to go downhill. Having a lack of closure caused Atsumu to fall under a false pretense that maybe everything is still alright, just maybe, even though it's obviously not.

Not at all.

Sakusa and Bokuto looked up from their stretching, their eyes wide from hearing Atsumu's close to normal voice, scanning the room from Inunaki's stunned expression before finally landing on Atsumu's uninterested brown eyes, that is looking straight at them.

"Tsum-tsum! We missed you!" Atsumu cocked his head to the side in question. He only missed a single practice yet this over hyper man zooms onto him and jumps at his face as if he ditched a week worth of training. Honestly, their behavior is starting to form thoughts on the blonde's head.

Just what the hell did they talk about while I was gone?

"Oi. Why are you actin' like I'm gone for a week or so?" Atsumu confronted them, with arms folded in the front of his chest. Bokuto suddenly jumped away from him and looked away, suddenly busying himself with his hair gel and Atsumu raised his eyebrows. He turned to look at Meian who was shaking his head violently and Inunaki who still has his mouth open.

"What is it? Spit it out."

"W-Well, it seems like you're back to normal, Atsumu." Inunaki closed his mouth slowly, expression still stunned. "It has been a month and I swear whenever you arrive for morning practices it's like we're talking with a ghost or something."

"I'm not a ghost." Atsumu replied curtly while setting his gym bag down the floor, and opening up his locker. There's a small paper bag inside, something he bought last month and has never touched since.

Oh, right. 

I bought a new roll of tape after he told me he ran out.

"Anyway where is Sho—" Atsumu turned his head towards his teammates and stopped short, instantly realizing what he had just said.

The mention of the name made all of their eyes turn to look at him, surprised. Holding their breath, waiting. Even Bokuto stayed still, stopped messing with his hair gel and watched him from the corner of his eye. 

Atsumu laughed, no humor in his tone. "Of course, Brazil. Sorry I forgot. Haha." Shit. Atsumu feels like shit, as he feels the embarrassment creeping up his neck. He's too whipped.

Too much. He's in it too much.

The people around the room shared a collective sigh.

"Miya—" Barnes.

"I know it, okay? I'll stop this nonsense. This is crazy and I don't like it either. I don't like thinking about him every goddamn second if I can help it." Atsumu snapped in sudden annoyance.

His eyes widened in sudden realization. His mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to release an apology in shame, looking at the blank faces of his team, makes him wanna bury himself deep in the ground for being reckless, for being irritated, and for being an asshole.

"Damn. I-I'm sorry." He raked his hair with his fingers, tugging nervously, hands shaking. Just a bit.

The room fell silent. They were used to his snarky remarks, and sudden outbursts, but the venom in his tone this time made them flinch, and look away. The hurt in his voice is unmistakable, it almost sounded like a choke of a cry that is preventing itself from pouring out, it almost sounded like a plea for help, it almost sounded like a whole lot of other things that they are not accustomed to hearing, not from anyone, and especially not from Atsumu.

It almost made them want to pity him. But they know it wouldn't help him in any way. Their throats dried up, and no one expected it was Bokuto who spoke first.

"We know Tsum-tsum." he smiled gently, his eyes for some reason, understanding, sending a quick feeling of relief on Atsumu as he felt his shoulders relax, as he lifted his gym bag and exited the room. The tense atmosphere in the room immediately evaporated as fast as it happened, and the others smiled awkwardly to Atsumu, preventing eye-contact, with Meian smiling sadly at him, following suit.

All thanks to Bokuto Koutarou.

Atsumu sat down on the wooden bench, and looked out the window where the familiar oak tree outside dancing merrily to the morning breeze. He breathes in deeply, trying to manage his thoughts. His reaction was unforgivable. He knows he's to blame for everything that happened, and he knows it well.

He accepts the fact that if only he wasn't an asshole that night— if only he isn't an asshole at all, if only he listened—

Miya buried his face on his hands. There's no place in his heart for regret. He's the bad guy and no one sympathizes with bad guys. Or at least he knows he isn't worthy of any sympathy. He picked up his clothes from his locker, changed, and went into the court where everybody is already warming up. They have a practice match later this afternoon against a local team and no one is taking this easy. Even for a professional team, there is always a possibility someone out there could hand their asses back to them. Even more that Shouyou is gone, a significant asset to the team.

That's right. He's gone.

Drill that to your * brain, Miya.

-

"Miya, I'm not trying to put pressure on you but you need to play."

Thirty minutes before the practice match started, Meian approached Atsumu, a careful look on his face.

The warm-up turned out fine. Better than most of them expected, but still not enough. Atsumu just served, and set, and nothing else. Like it's his job. Like he's not playing volleyball, his most beloved thing in the world. It's not enough.

"I know, Meian-san."

Meian stared at him for a second and sat down beside him, handing him a sausage from the pack that he had brought with him home that one time when he vacationed to South Korea, which Atsumu accepted, confused with the sudden gesture. Like, who even brings sausages to court before the game right?

"I mean play play . Not the thing you are doing while we're warming up. That's not you." 

Atsumu took a big bite out of the sausage and looked down on his shoes. It was an unfamiliar taste, yet he enjoyed it all the same. "And I know that. I'm sorry for draggin' the team down. I'll try—I'll make it so it'll never happen again."

Meian sighed as Atsumu finished the rest of the sausage with two consecutive bites, then threw the empty wrapper into the trash can and walked towards the vending machines without another word.

From an outsider's view, there is nothing wrong that could be seen in Atsumu's actions. But Meian, being exceptionally observant with things, noticed the strained shoulders, passive expressions, full of stress, full of unsaid burden, the things that he chose to keep to himself for all of this time.

I guess he's harder on himself than anyone else.

-

"One touch!" Meian shouted. 

The game is on its final set with a score of 13-7 to MSBY. The libero on the other team is quite talented, digging up balls one after the other, and the rallies wouldn't stop. This reminds Atsumu of Karasuno's match against Nekoma where the ball wouldn't touch the floor. It looks exhausting already, just watching, and admittedly one of the matches that made his toes stand to the end. He's sure that every spectator then felt the same thing: I don't want it to end.

Now that they are experiencing something like it, it drains every single bit of energy inside of them. Every single idle thought is not permitted, only focusing on keeping the ball in play. Give or take a few years, this team would probably qualify as one of the toughest teams out there in the competition.

The opponent's spiker hit the ball in a mean angle, causing Inunaki to scramble up and dive, saving the ball in an awkward return to the setter. But it wasn't a problem for Atsumu. He can set any kind of receive and he will set it to the utmost of his ability.

He bent his torso backwards, as well as his knees, magnificently lifting up his hands and fingers, preparing to send, to deliver just like an offering, the ball to the spiker as precisely as ever.

Shouyou.

The ball traveled a perfect trajectory, landing straight into Bokuto's outstretched palm, spiking straight onto the opposite side of the court, leaving their opponents stunned. It was a quick that no one will ever be ready enough for, it was a quick reserved only for—

"Atsumu-san! Your quick sets are as cool as ever—!"

Him. Atsumu looked back, smiling. "Of course, Sho—"

"Tsum-tsum! W-Wah! What was that?! Is that your special quick? So cool!" Bokuto exclaimed, holding his palm high in the air, looking at its reddened surface excitedly.

The smile on Atsumu's face disappeared almost instantly.

Oh. That's right.

-

"Cheers! Man, that was a tough match." Barnes blurted out, a mug of beer in hand, clinking it against the rest of the teams'. He turned to look at Atsumu, who is currently playing with his food, with an unreadable expression plastered on his face. "Miya?" Barnes gestured to Atsumu's mug, not lifted.

"O-Oh," Atsumu blinked twice and hurried off to join his mug along with his teammates, then muttered a soft cheers. "Sorry."

Sakusa and Inunaki threw him a worried look, but did not egg on any further. They both heard what Atsumu was about to say that time, and how awkward it may have been if not for Bokuto, suddenly exclaiming excitedly about the unorthodox set that wasn't supposed to be his in the first place.

"I thought we have to make plans on how to salvage a ruined reputation. Their libero and middle blockers are too tough to handle." Meian said while scooping up another serving of cooked meat into his mouth, followed by a chug of beer.

They were back again at the resto where Atsumu spilled his guts to Meian before. The match concluded with MSBY's win, (to Meian's relief) and just like their ritual every match, a dinner and a drink at their favorite to-go-to is in order. Atsumu felt it was lucky of him, to have a different waitress on shift this time.

"Right? One of their blockers reminded me of Kuroo. Daaaamn, that was scary!" Bokuto laughed, then downed a whole mug of beer in one shot, earning a round of applause from the team and from some other people in the restaurant, which made the man laugh even harder, enjoying the attention that was given to him.

An hour of recollection of what happened during the match and Atsumu, who tried his hardest to keep listening in the lively conversation they're having, turned his head upwards on the ceiling, feeling light-headed. He wasn't in any mood to drink, and he doesn't want any replay of the mess he made last time he drank himself to death.

He stood up, excused himself for the night, bowed and left the restaurant, gym bag on his arm, with worried glances of his teammates boring into his back.

He absentmindedly checked his pockets.

Oh, right.

Atsumu started walking down the road, kicking stones, inhaling the cool Tokyo night air. Thinking. Seeing the wild lights glow from the disco bar across the street, seeing couples hand in hand walking with their hands clasped together in the other's coat's pocket… everywhere he looks at, he thinks of him. Still.

He sees him everywhere, not literally, but he sees himself doing the same with Hinata, one night, while they stroll along, drinking hot chocolate like it's the most normal thing in the world to do at 2 am.

"Is this all, sir?"

Atsumu, instead of answering, brought out his wallet, with a picture of Hinata and him during one of their beach trips visibly stuffed into one of its clear cases, perfectly—no, almost perfectly showcasing the Hinata's tanned muscles, glimmering from sweat, smiling widely with his arm around Atsumu's neck, who is bending forwards to match the ginger-haired man beside of him.

He can still remember that scene like the back of his hand, how he scrambled and messed up every single thing he does over the sands, losing his footing numerous times, Hinata laughing cheerfully, patting his back.

It was one of the greatest humiliations he had ever experienced in his life.

Normally, he would have hated to be looked down upon by other people. He would have hated to suck at something, he would have hated for there to be a thing that he doesn't excel at. But if that's the expense for Hinata's laughter—

At the end of the day, Atsumu had his skin full of sunburns that day. Intentional sunburns that is. He's still isn't sure if he regrets it or not.

Though he thinks he might have been stupid to do so. 

"Sir?"

"Yes. Thank you." he said.

Atsumu stepped outside the convenience store, rearranged his coat and his gym bag which is somehow starting to get a bit heavier on his arm

Or maybe it was just his imagination.

He closed his wallet, with the sight of Shouyou's bright orange hair and tanned skin still lingering at the back of his mind.

Atsumu reached inside the plastic bag and brought out a box of cigarettes.

Even as a professional, Atsumu's habits are a bit hard to erase. Now that there is no one to prevent him from doing it, smoking, which he only does when he is really stressed, now occurs with a minimum of five cigs a day, and Sakusa could not help but to scrunch his face every time Atsumu passes by.

Taking a long drag of his cigarette, Atsumu reached into his bag, and took his phone out with the earphones still connected.

Shouyou.

He is in fact, everywhere. Atsumu made sure of it. Whether he's regretting the fact that he tried to incorporate Hinata into almost every aspect of his life or not, something is still certain. There is no way Miya Atsumu is getting over Hinata Shouyou soon. And at some part at the back of his heart he is well aware of this. He hates that he knows he can't get over him, he hates that he's aware of how deep Shouyou's clasps on him were, ball and chain, chain on the neck, preventing him to breathe normally, to live normally.

He hates Shouyou for this. But not as much as he hates himself. Again, for being too into it.

Exhaling the smoke, Atsumu plugged in the buds into his ears and let music play in shuffle.

Funny how things would end up this way.

He exhales once more, every breath forming little smoke clouds, disappearing almost instantaneously in the dark sky.

The odd warmth that the cigarette gives him, he clings to it. Thoughts scattered, thoughts filled with all the what-ifs, thoughts that always end with but it's too late.

Taking one last drag, Atsumu extinguished the flame with his shoes, and picked up the cigarette butt, throwing it into a nearby trash can.

He puffed out the remaining smoke softly and slowly between his lips, and smiled.

He left, and I let him go.

Wrong. He didn't let him.

He wasn't given a choice.

-

And fourth, you're gonna think that you fixed yourself. 

"Shit."

Couple of bottles greeted Osamu's sight as he opened the door to, for the businessman, the worst brother anyone could ever have in the world. 

"What the hell is all of this? Tsumu?"

The twin in question is sprawled topless on his bed. Silent, unmoving.

"Oi. You good for nothin', wake up." Osamu throws a pillow hard against Atsumu's back, causing the latter to stir and look at him in annoyance.

"What?" Atsumu scratched his head. As far as the setter knows, he has no training or matches today, so the reason for his twin bitching up on him at 7 in the morning perfectly makes no sense. "The hell ya want?"

A seething Osamu gestured to the room. "What is this? Are ya throwing yer whole life away like this? Mom said you never call nowadays and when I had to use one of my precious day offs I visited my dear brother and guess what, I'm suddenly in a junkyard?" Osamu picked up an empty can of beer and threw it at Atsumu, landing with a sharp clunk at the top of his blonde hair.

"You a crazy girlfriend or somethin'? The hell are you throwing stuff at me for?" Atsumu threw the can back at Osamu, with drips of leftover beer staining the shirt of his twin causing him to glare dangerously at Atsumu, who is now standing up and walking towards the kitchen.

"I am asking you if you are planning to throw your life away, Tsumu."

Atsumu rinsed his face on the faucet's running water and turned to look at his twin, a paper bag of Onigiri Miya nested on one of his arms. "You know you don't hafta do this for me, 'Samu." he said as he reached for his toothbrush.

"I don't want to do this if I can help it." Osamu set down the paperbag on the counter and revealed its contents. Tuna onigiris, Atsumu's favorite. "Still can't get over orange boy?"

"Shut yer trap, 'Samu. None of yer business."

"Keep acting like that and it will be."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Atsumu, brushing his teeth, raised an eyebrow as he stared his twin brother in the eyes. 

"It means I will meddle as much as I want and I will contact that shortie, tell him how you have been handling yer life, wasted, drunk, with your apartment's a mess. How about that?" With a smug face, Osamu sat down on the high-chair by the counter and cupped his face with his hand.

"As if you would. You could care less what happens in my love life, Samu."

"Either way, stop doing this. You're an adult, for Pete's sake. At least handle your surroundings properly if ya can't do the same for yer emotions."

"Don't talk to me as if you weren't a madman back then, throwing chairs and stuff at the living room, crying with snot all over yer face just because he blocked your number." Atsumu spits out the foam, and rinses his mouth. "You always act like yer superior and level headed, no one actually knows you can be more child-like than I am at times. Maybe I should tell Kita-san that."

Osamu scoffed and took a bite of the onigiri he brought himself. "He wouldn't believe ya."

"That so? Why don't we try?"

Osamu glared at him and Atsumu answered it with his own.

This little exchange went on for hours and hours, removing any other thoughts lingering inside of Atsumu's mind.

Even if Atsumu would never admit it, he was grateful.

-

It has been more than half a year since Shouyou left, when he called for the first time.

When his phone first rang, Atsumu ignored it. 

He thought it was about that sloppy serve he did a while ago, and he isn't in any mood to be listening to a long sermon from his captain right now.

He knew he sucked. He knew he wasn't exactly playing his best, even if he tried his hardest to do so. It just isn't as fun as it was anymore, and it frustrates him to no end.

It was as if he can only play like himself when Shouyou is around, making him feel even more worthless. Making him even less of a character than he's supposed to be.

The second time, he decided to check his phone. 

And it still didn't connect. The rings stopped and Atsumu stared at his screen the whole time, dumbfounded by the name that appeared on the screen. A familiar contact—yet at the same time not— calling his phone, knocking the air out of him.

Silence.

With his fingers tense, he waits.

For the third time, if the gods allow it, if the gods give him another chance—

And they did.

Breathless, Atsumu answered the call too fast, as if expecting. As if he knows, trusts, that another one would definitely, definitely come.

"Hello, Atsumu-san." A familiar voice spoke from the other line.

A gasp comes stuck on Atsumu's throat.

His lungs full of air, he was silent. Corners of lips tightening, opening, closing, forming an attempt of a hello that unfortunately refuses to come out.

Chest uncomfortably constricting, as flashbacks of what happened then comes rushing to his mind, countless words of apologies he had wanted to say for the longest time, tumbling amongst themselves trying to get out, trying to be spoken.

But it wasn't that easy.

"Hello, Shouyou."

He knows he has no right to selfishness.

-

"Sure. I'll wait for her." Atsumu ends the call. 

If he has anything he expects, it is this.

The time will definitely come for Hinata to take away his stuff. There's only a few of them left, but still, it's there. Atsumu wonders why Hinata has taken such a long time to decide to get his things out of Atsumu's place, but maybe he just forgot. It wasn't anything remarkable. Just a couple of books here and there, some plants that Hinata impulsively bought and brought home one day, and some random things.

Cds, his pillow, and his guitar.

He decided to thank Osamu (but not really), for forcing him to clean up his unit.

Thirty-five minutes later, a bell is heard.

"Natsu." Atsumu opens his door to see a teenage girl, holding what looks like a box of cake on her hands, standing outside his door.

"Miya-san." Natsu smiled, and Atsumu looked away. Reflexively. 

It was just too similar.

-

"Take yer time. I'll be here outside."

Atsumu thinks it would be uncomfortable for Natsu to move around looking for his brother's stuff while he's in there so he decided to stay outside. 

His fingers twitched as he instinctively reached for a smoke, but decided against it. He's fine now.

Hinata's call just… surprised him. That's right, it just surprised him because it was out of the blue, he wasn't expecting it, and it was so long since—

Pathetic. 

Atsumu knows the truth, but Atsumu is also stubborn.

He wouldn't admit that a two minute phone call woke up the dormant feelings he kept buried for so long, he wouldn't admit that he hoped for more, for another reason, a reason including him.

He wouldn't admit that he missed him so much he could cry.

But Atsumu never cries. He doesn't know how it feels. Though for some reason he knew that he was close to when Hinata said his name. How is it still Atsumu , and how he remembered all those times when Shouyou used to call him by that, every morning, every time like it was his favorite word.

How it feels to have that empty, clawing feeling on his chest once more, it's like Shouyou is having fun making him feel this way. Timing it when Atsumu is starting to think he was over him, and that the feelings are gone—

Atsumu is stubborn.

But he is not dumb. He knows it never left.

-

"Thank you Miya-san."

Atsumu turns to look at Natsu, who is carrying a small box on her arms. Atsumu gestured to help, but Natsu just shook her head and dismissed the idea by saying, it's not that heavy.

"Do you want a ride?" Atsumu offered to her as he walked her to the elevator.

"I'm alright. Thanks for the offer, Miya-san."

Natsu smiled again and placed the box on the floor as the doors closed, the image of Atsumu waving to her goodbye leaving her vision, replaced by the metal doors of the elevator.

Hands shaking, she messaged his brother.

He's alright now, onii-chan.

Biting her lip, as the white lie was sent with her eyes closed.

Hoping that with this message, her brother will finally be able to sleep.

"I'm sorry, Miya-san."

She couldn't bear to tell Hinata that his guitar still sits at the corner of the room, now completely rid of dust, a small indication that there will always be a part of Hinata that is there for him, if ever he decides to come back.

A vibration from the phone brought Natsu to her senses.

'Thank you, Natsu.'

The elevator door opens and to her surprise, a huffing Miya Atsumu greeted her vision. He's holding the slightly battered guitar case with his hands as he gives it to Natsu.

"You forgot something." He said, catching his breath.

Natsu bit her lip.

She lifted the light box with her arms, and let Atsumu hand her the guitar strap, holding it between her free fingers.

"You sure you don't need me to drive you? I have nothing to do today."

Natsu couldn't find the words to speak. She shook her head firmly, thinking, contemplating if she has the heart to withdraw everything she said to his brother—

She doesn't.

-

Fifth, you see them out with someone else.

Atsumu decided to go to the hairdressers today. His hair is getting quite long, the strands hitting his eyes, causing him unable to focus on playing with his hair on his face. It was troublesome, but Atsumu loved the length, so it was a bit on the hard side deciding, but in the end, he chose to trim it all off.

An hour and a half later, his hair is back to its usual length.

"That will be—"

Atsumu looked at his appearance in the mirror.

"Actually can you also dye it? In black please."

-

"What the hell—"

Atsumu's brows automatically knitted at the sound of the voice. He doesn't know why Osamu barged into his apartment all of a sudden, and he can't be bothered to know.

"What happened to your hair?"

"What do you think?" Atsumu said mockingly as he reached for his chips on the table. He is watching his favorite sitcom, but for some reason it was unable to rouse any kind of laugh on him. It wasn't about the quality of the show— he just isn't feeling it today.

He wonders if it's about the hair, and the fact that he looks even more similar to Osamu now that his hair is black.

Ugh, why did I think of that. Atsumu pinched his nose in annoyance.

"Dye it."

"I just did."

"In a different color."

"When I feel like it."

Osamu sat down beside him on the couch and ripped off the bag of chips out of his brother's hands. Atsumu flipped a middle finger at him and Osamu flipped it back, then he stood up and washed his hands on the sink.

It was just one of his many impulsive decisions.

Atsumu decided that it was one of the few things he could control.

-

Time passes by too quickly and it is now January.

Hinata never crossed Atsumu's mind for a couple of months now, as he has been busying himself with his belt of consecutive games wrapped around his waist.

To his team's relief, Miya Atsumu is back to himself. There's no trace left of sloppiness, and to be honest his sets were much better than before.

Still the same in terms of precision and ability— but it was different.

It was kinder. In a way.

-

Two years later, one lazy afternoon, a call disturbed Atsumu's phone. There's no scheduled matches today and Meian decided it was time for them to get their earned rest.

Still groggy from his afternoon nap, thinking it was Osamu again, Atsumu picked his phone up and glanced on the screen for a bit. His eyes widened in surprise, but he answered it all the same.

As calm as the noon breeze, "Hey, Shouyou. What's up?"

-

Hinata took a long, burdened breath. He punched in the number that he once memorized by heart and put the phone against his ear.

"Hey, Shouyou. What's up?"

All at once, a thousand emotions rushed in his chest like a hurricane. It's been so long since he heard his voice. It is still mellow, and rough, and warm, and Hinata cannot help but to sit down and cover his eyes with his spare hand.

It's been so long.

"Shouyou?"

Shouyou.

"Oh. Hi. Hi, Atsumu." was all that he could say.

Silence stretched out between them, and it was awkward.

"Do you need anything?"

Oh right. The reason for the call.

Hinata's fingers tensed around his phone. His voice is still the same but at the same time, it is different. Hinata wonders if it was just because he hasn't heard Atsumu's voice for a long time or that the version he is familiar with, the Good morning Shouyou, and I love you, Shouyou is etched deeply into his heart that anything else is wrong.

"Can we talk?" Hinata asks.

"Of course. What about?"

Hinata took another deep breath before speaking.

"About us."

Another silence. A cough was heard from the other line, and Shouyou played with his coffee. Tense, waiting.

"Alright."

"Do you wanna go first?" Shouyou presented. Fingers now shaking, he blames it on the coffee. Mind filled with a mixture of words that he wanted to say, too much it was almost confusing.

"Okay."

Silence again. Only the stable breathing of the two of them, fanning against the microphone can be heard. A solid minute passed by and Atsumu spoke.

"Shouyou. I'm sorry. I think that is all I've ever wanted to say to you."

Hinata's lips trembled. At the same time, all of his thoughts that pestered and disturbed his mind immediately evaporated.

"I've said a lot of bad things. No, we both said a lot of bad things to each other. Words that are still buried at the back of my mind, words that I kept wishing I never said, I never heard. Ya know," Atsumu paused.

Hinata nods. He knew.

All too well.

"Some nights, I think about what happened then. What words I could have said instead. But things happen. We both lost our temper. I—"

Atsumu cleared his throat.

"Sorry. Back then, I just— I really hated the idea of you. Leaving."

"Atsu—"

"But maybe it was for the best. Don't you think so, too?" His voice cut Shouyou's voice short, and was reduced to a whisper. Soft and careful.

A pause. Instead of answering, "Atsumu." Shouyou says.

"Hmm?"

"I hate it too. Leaving you."

Shouyou stopped for a second, gathering his thoughts. His fingers drumming against the table, contemplating, thinking about a lot of things at once, his heart beating almost too painfully on his chest.

It was over, a long time ago. Everything already ended. But right now, it was as if every raw emotion they felt that night resurfaced. It was not painful. Like a warm hug, comforting, nostalgic, and reassuring.

Healing.

"Do you really?" Atsumu asked.

"I do. If leaving you is easy, we wouldn't have fought, right?"

Atsumu chuckles. Shouyou closed his eyes, releasing the exhale he wasn't aware he was holding back.

He smiled. At this point they knew. No one could see them, with their phones against their ears, talking about a relationship they once had; a private conversation that should've been made a long time ago. It was a short phone call. Too short for two people who once loved each other like the world, two people who have sacrificed each and almost everything for the other. With that, they were back to square one.

It was just forgiveness. A closure they both knew they needed.

To move on, to move forward.

"Right."

So that they could both breathe.

-

"Have you seen it?" Oikawa gestured to his phone, a picture of a man and woman smiling next to each other, a view of the beach behind them.

"Yes. They both look good together."

Oikawa propped his face with his hand, and stared at Shouyou incredulously. They are inside Shouyou's apartment, just letting time pass. Beach volleyball that day was cancelled due to an event that will be held, and they are left doing nothing to appease their boredom.

"What?" Feeling a gaze on his skin, Shouyou raised his eyes from the cereal, to Oikawa's face. The setter just shook his head and sighed audibly.

"What's the sigh for?"

Tooru scratched his head and looked back at him again. "You know Shouyou, I've known you since high school."

"You do. So? What does that have to do with you staring at me like I've spit on your breakfast?"

Hinata asked as he stuffed another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

"Nothing. I mean, be honest. What are you feeling after seeing that picture of Atsumu-san with a random girl?"

"Am I supposed to feel something? Hmm." Shouyou paused for a bit and stared blankly into space. "Happy, I guess?" Shouyou then stood up and dumped the bowl into the sink. "And she's not a random girl. Atsumu mentioned her a few times. A close classmate from high school, I think."

He then walked towards the couch and sat down, with his feet tucked under. Shouyou placed his chin atop his knees, eyes looking nowhere in particular. With a worried glance, Oikawa follows suit and joins him.

"Really?"

Hinata started playing with his fingernails, thumb tracing the edges, back and forth. Something to do.

"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?" Shouyou's eyes landed on the television and he absentmindedly reached for the remote but Oikawa is faster. He grabbed it and placed it behind him.

"You don't look happy."

"I don't?" Hinata's lower lip trembled. As far as he knows, he's trying his best to not let anything show on his face. He isn't happy at all. Oikawa knows it.

How can he be happy when all this time all he thinks about is him? Foolishly hoping that somehow he still feels the same way. That after all this time, he would wait, that it's still him, it's still Shouyou.

He couldn't be any more wrong. The picture of them beaming at the camera, so very much in love, tells him so.

It only took a second when Oikawa pulled Shouyou into his arms. He pats on his back, gently, kindly, as Shouyou grasped on his shirt, gripping so tight it might as well tear. Breathing erratically against his chest, a sob forming on his throat. Eyes heating up at the sides, like a glass filled to the brim, provoking him to overflow. Things that he wanted to say, to let out, are left stuck, heart exposed bare, weak, on his sleeve.

It didn't come out.

The sun is setting as the deep warm glow enveloped the room. Dirty dishes littering the sink, empty boxes of cereals, glasses on the counter, nothing could be heard but the slightly disoriented breathing of Shouyou, along with Tooru's stable one.

"You don't." Tooru softly whispers.

"How did you know?" Hinata asked.

"I've known you since high school."

They were silent for a long time. Just hugging each other, comforting each other until it was completely dark outside. The warmth of Hinata nesting between his arms like he had always belonged here, made Oikawa's thoughts disoriented.

_ If I'm only free, I could fall for you, Shouyou. _

Couple of hours pass by. Shouyou shyly disconnected himself from the embrace, now calm. He leaned back, his head looking towards the ceiling, thinking.

Thinking about random things, anything to keep his mind preoccupied. Anything for him to not think about Atsumu happy and smiling, for a reason that is not him.

Happy and smiling without him.

Again, he couldn't be any more wrong.

"Why didn't you tell him?" Tooru broke the silence.

Shouyou laughed, quite mockingly. Mocking himself in fact. Why indeed? He has every opportunity to do so. His head turned to look towards Oikawa, with an expression resembling something close to pity eminent on his face. He was certainly pitiful. Even he himself thinks also.

"I wonder why."

A lie. He knows why.

-

And the sixth—

Puffs of smoke blurred the room, as Atsumu sighed for the nth time. He was smoking, again. 

His eyes closed, breathing the evening air. Thinking everything and nothing all at once, brain processing all of the events that happened during the last few years, even the complete nonsense.

Finally coming up to a conclusion.

He picked up his phone, and entered a number. After a couple of rings, it went through.

"I'm sorry. I can't do it after all." Atsumu said.

Just as he reached the button to end it, the person on the other side spoke.

"I know you can't. Thank you for last week. Thank you for trying. It means the world to me." The voice was kind and steady, that Atsumu wanted to punch himself. He tried. He tried everything, but he can't. There are just some things that no matter how much you want them, you wish for them to be true, they can't. Not if your whole being is rejecting the thought, not if your mind is still thinking of someone else.

He made sure to incorporate Hinata into every single thing of his life. Now he's paying the price.

The loud end tone is the only thing that can be heard across the room.

Atsumu sighed. Another thing to hate himself to.

Again.

-

Morning comes with another phone call, this time from Osamu.

"I heard."

"You heard."

That's it.

Half an hour later, the bell rings and his twin is back again at his apartment, bag of onigiri on his one arm, cans of beer on the other.

Sometimes, very seldomly, Atsumu feels grateful he has a brother. This is one of those times. Although most of the time they both curse each other to death, they have always been together. Atsumu cleans up his brother's mess, and Osamu does the same.

It feels nice to have someone understand, without saying a single word.

-

Osamu left. Leaving behind empty cans of beer and wrappers of onigiris on the floor.

Atsumu lay down on his bed, with his arms crossed at the back of his throbbing head, looking at the ceiling, seeing nothing.

Time passed by, as the sun gave way to the moon, just like it does everyday— Atsumu decided to sleep. He has a game scheduled tomorrow.

But sleep wouldn't come.

It wouldn't. For the past two years.

-

Hinata too, couldn't.

Tossing and turning, sitting up, a jog in the middle of the night, taking a shower, watching the television, doing everything he can to feel so tired he can't think about anything anymore.

On the occasion that he was able to sleep, it never continues. Three hours in and he wakes up again. Then he sleeps. Then wakes up.

He has gotten used to it.

-

The first time happened not so long ago.

Night once again enveloped the sky on a random day of July, restless and drunk, Atsumu picks up his phone from his pocket and dials a number he still knows by heart. The number that first comes to mind.

He drags his trembling legs forward, tired and sore from the game that they won earlier that day, one step at a time, to his bed. Begging for rest. But once again, sleep evades him.

It connects. Of course it would.

"Shouyou."

A desperate attempt to fall asleep.

"Yes, Atsumu? You called?"

Selfish, but it was something that they both needed. Something that only the other could give.

They both gave each other a space to breathe.

"Could you help me fall asleep? Just talk to me about whatever."

_Selfish,_ but they long for more.

-

"Shouyou."

Just like they do every single night. A lame excuse they both tell themselves as they talk for hours on end, catching up.

"Are you asleep?"

Ways of healing, ways of accepting.

"Not yet."

Growing feelings, returning feelings.

"Can we talk? Just like what we always do."

Like all things, it always comes back to you.

-

May.

"Are you sure about this, Shouyou?"

Hinata beamed. "Don't worry too much about me, Oikawa-san. Just be happy for yourself." Shouyou gestured to the man waiting, sitting on one of the chairs, eyeing them closely. Oikawa followed his motion, and rolled his eyes at the man, who laughed and turned his head away.

"If you say so. Call me if there's trouble alright?"

Shouyou chuckled. "I'm not a kid, Oikawa-san."

"Yeah, you're not." Tooru nods, as he hands Hinata his other bag. Hinata accepted it and placed it on top of his suitcase, tying it around the handle. Finally, Oikawa blurts out what's on his mind this whole time.

"What took you both this long?"

Heels reverberating against the cold, tiled floor, Hinata starts to walk again as he drags his suitcase behind him, casually looking back at Oikawa, who is following him closely. He looked warmly at the man who was always there for him, comforted him, and shared meals with.

Oikawa Tooru played a big role in his life, and he couldn't ask for more. He's been there for him when he had no one, and for that he is truly grateful. He made a mental note to send him a copy first.

Teasingly, Shouyou answered with a toothy grin.

"Does it matter?" 

Oikawa smiled back, his eyes crinkling as he waved his hand goodbye.

"No, it doesn't."

-

"Yeah, that would be nice. He'll love it."

Atsumu ends the call with a smile. An idea crosses his mind and out of a sudden he picked up the guitar that Natsu delivered to him three months ago, and opened it.

He gently strummed on the strings, a sound so delicate but out of tune, something that he hadn't heard for a long, long time. As the sunlight bounced against his bare torso, he wiped off the bits of dust that settled themselves on the strings with his fingers. He cradled the guitar in front of his chest, placed it on his thighs.

It was such a long time. It was hard, hearing you and not able to touch you.

But it ends today.

Humming gently. An all too familiar tune, as he fixed the guitar. Strumming with each change, the feelings bubbling inside of him just like the first time, warm and comforting. As if he's right behind him, guiding his hand.

There are a million reasons why Atsumu hates himself. A million more if you add Osamu's.

None of those means a thing. Not anymore.

After quite some time, with his fingertips red from playing, Atsumu stood up and returned the guitar on its case. With the addition of new boxes in his apartment, Atsumu wonders if he should look for a new one.

No. Here is fine.

As he studies his surroundings, with all of the plants that don't belong to him littered on the veranda, from the cups of noodles that filled the trash, he laughed to himself.

This is a disaster.

He grabbed a towel as well as a fresh change of clothes and went to the bathroom.

Oh well, I'll clean later. First things first.

He has someone to pick up at the airport.

Atsumu wonders as he turn on the shower:

I wonder what he would say to my hair?

-

Few months earlier, with countless phone calls and conversations shared for the past couple of months, Atsumu lying down on his back, his phone set on loud speaker. In the middle of just another one of their daily talks, one that they stubbornly referred to as sleep therapy, which fooled no one—

There's one thought formed that set the broken clock ticking again on an uneventful night in November.

It was sudden, it was random—

Almost jokingly, Atsumu spoke.

"Say, would you reckon we try again?"

Silence caused by surprise, followed by an amused chuckle. Atsumu's favorite sound in the world. Although he can't deny that everything about Hinata Shouyou is his favorite.

—and it was reciprocated.

"I was wondering if I should be the one to ask."

**There were more after that.**

**Author's Note:**

> lightly inspired by Six Degrees of Separation - The Script.
> 
> thank you for reading and giving this fic a chance. feedbacks and kudos are appreciated from the heart. ^-^ ♡


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